Uncommon Morning

This morning is a bit different.... most Sundays at 8;22 a.m. I am scurrying from place to place directing, speeding up (well, trying to) and reminding so that we can be out the door at 8:40 for first service.

But this morning Sadie, our latest evangelist, has two of her friends coming to church with her. These girls came on Wednesday night and are very excited about joining our ROCKS choir (4th 5th and 6th grade) and going to church with us. Neither of them attend church and I met the parents of one of the girls yesterday who I really enjoyed talking with. The family is Hispanic and the mom is bilingual but she heard that I spoke Spanish and tricked me into speaking my faulty Spanish with her for about 10 minutes before she burst into perfect English when talking with my daughter. I jokingly scolded her for putting me through the hassle when obviously her English was much better than my Spanish.

I'm learning, based on experience, that the friends one heads into Jr. High with can certainly determine how they live their lives. Kyle, Rand and Jimmy have either made excellent choices in this area or have simply chosen to have their siblings be their friends. However, Mike, John, Salinda and now Ricardo are gravitating towards kids who will either lead them into trouble or be led by them into trouble.

Sadie has apparently made some great choices and so I am sacrficing my need to attend two services (I hate missing either service now that they are different) in order to be a taxi driver to pick up these girls and bring them to Sunday School and Church.

I feel as though I am carrying out a legacy as my mother was a constant "bringer" when it came to kids and Sunday School. My Junior year of High School I spent driving one church van while my mother drove the other so that we could bring between 30 and 40 Laotian children to Kids Club. It was quite a hassle as we had only one vehicle. My Mom or I would drive my Dad to work in the station wagon to work at 4:30 (he worked nights). At about 5:45 we would drive the car to the church and park it. Then we would each take a church van and drive back down to our inner city neighborhood and fill them up. If there were other kids waiting we would make a second trip. I'll never forget those cute brown faces, in ragged clothing, speaking a language I did not understand, smelling of foods I had never tried.

It seems like we've come full circle now. It's almost 30 years later and two weeks from today we will be flying to Texas to bring home two sons whose parents most likely immigrated to this country at the same time as the families of the children we picked up for Wednesday night kids club. This next generation is much different -- though their faces are still brown, their clothes are not raged, they do not speak the language of their parents, and if they smell, it is most likely of hamburgers or pizza.

I must conclude my paying tribute to my parents who instilled in me a strong sense of social justice, a clear love for people of all nations, and a passion for caring for those less fortunate. They celebrated their 45th wedding anniversary on Thursday. I blogged their story a couple years ago if you haven't read it. They are aging, but remain committed to one another and remain my greatest inspiration, my primary role models, my consistent prayer support, and my heroes.